Of Scent and Sound
by slyprentice
Summary: After that first time, Matt couldn't help but feel guilty. Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics. Pre-slash. Matt/Foggy.


**Title** : Of Scent and Sound  
 **Author** : Prentice  
 **Rating** : Mature  
 **Fandom** : Daredevil (TV)  
 **Category** : Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics. MMoM Challenge Response. Pre-slash.  
 **Pairing** : Matt/Foggy  
 **Warnings** : Voyeurism. Matt's guilt complex. Possessive Behavior. Implied loss of control. Saucy language.

 **Summary** : After that first time, Matt couldn't help but feel guilty.

 **Author's Notes** : I wrote this for the MMoM challenge running all month long and am really happy with the way it turned out. I've already promised to write a sequel for it so be on the lookout. :)

* * *

After that first time, Matt couldn't help but feel guilty.

He'd never been one of those Alphas who took advantage of an Omega's heat cycle. Had never toed the line between pushing for more or expecting extra. He'd never given in to baser urges because he'd taught himself long ago that _he_ controlled his urges and his urges _did not_ control him.

That's why, after that first time, he was riddled with guilt.

Intellectually, he knew he'd done nothing wrong. No boundaries were crossed and no promises were broken. He had simply given in to a biological urge that almost everyone on the planet had at some point.

That didn't stop him from feeling guilty though. Didn't stop him from feeling shamefaced and itchy with regret, the uneasy flutter in his stomach hard to ignore. That he hadn't meant to do it – that he'd started off thinking differently – it didn't stop him from wanting to go back and – not change things, because for as much as he felt guilty, it still had been fairly amazing – but just…

He wasn't really sure. Acknowledge it, maybe. Accept that he was going to do what he was going to do and the only one he owed any sort of explanation to was Foggy.

Foggy. His best friend. Christ forgive him.

It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was to him. That he'd – think – about Foggy that way. That he'd _want_ Foggy that way.

Franklin – Foggy – he was a good friend. The best kind of friend Matt could ever ask for. Possibly even the truest friend he had ever had in his life.

That he was an Omega to Matt's Alpha, well, that had all seemed incidental. His best friend was so much more than his secondary gender identity and Foggy proved that every single day. Showed that the stereotypes and the snide comments were all just so much bullshit.

Not that Foggy even seemed to notice. He just did it. The way he did everything and Matt – Matt loved him for it. Was willing to stand by him every step of the way and if occasionally he had to step between an oblivious Foggy and some asshole who thought it was his job to prove a point – well, Matt was okay with that.

He loved Foggy – as a friend and as a brother – and he'd do whatever had to help him achieve whatever goals he set his sights on. It was only the right thing to do, after all; Foggy had always done the same for him. Even when Matt didn't really deserve it.

But – God help him – Matt had never really thought about Foggy's Omega status beyond that. It was stupid and maybe a little childish but from the moment he'd met Foggy and navigated those first few not-at-all-awkward-thanks-to-his-new-chatty-roommate days in college, he really hadn't had much cause to think about it. Foggy was Foggy and if occasionally his best friend's heat suppressants made him smell a little weird – sharply chemical and syrupy – it didn't really matter.

Only, it mattered now. It really, really mattered now. Because Foggy's suppressants, the ones that he'd had to change sometime last month because his doctor had recommended it due to Foggy's elevated blood pressure, they had failed.

Completely.

And for the first time since Matt had become his friend, Foggy had gone into heat. Not the faux heat that would sometimes overcome him while he was on his suppressants but a true heat. One that had left them both agitated and strangely out-of-sync for the first time in their friendship.

It had taken Karen – Karen, whose Beta pheromones had started to become a soothing counterpoint to both of their own – hesitatingly pointing out the possibility that had made both of them sit-up and take notice. It had been a hard notice. For the both of them.

Foggy had already been well past the point of no return by the time he had hastily made an emergency doctor's appointment, desperate to get a prescription for a heat-blocking medication. It was the safest way to stop a heat, especially in the early stages, but only if an Omega was able to get it in time. For Foggy, that hadn't been possible.

He was far too far along and trying to stop it would have been dangerous. He'd just have to suffer through it. That's how he'd described it to Matt anyway, the flush on his overheated face deepening as he'd hurriedly stuffed the set of briefs they'd both been working on into his briefcase.

He wouldn't be able to work on it. Not with the heat being as potent as it was – Matt couldn't believe he'd ever missed it; that scent, even in its early stages, was unmistakable – but Foggy was never one to admit defeat. He'd probably tremble his way through trying to work on them, sticky hot and miserable between the worst waves of his heat.

The thought had made Matt edgy, fingers flexing repeatedly around his cane. He'd hated the idea, still hated the idea. Foggy shouldn't be alone. Not in the state he was going to be in.

He needed to be protected – guarded – looked after – and maybe it wasn't Matt's place to think about things like that but it felt like it was. It had always felt like it was, from the very moment he had met him, and so he'd done what he could to convince Foggy that maybe he should spend his heat at Matt's place. It was better than his apartment with its thin walls and shitty lock.

Matt's place – it was the better choice.

Foggy would be safe there. Safer than anywhere else, really. He could fall into his heat, give into his baser urges, and not have to worry about some hyped up Alpha trying to break down the door.

Matt wouldn't let that happen. Not on his watch. Only, he hadn't expected – god, he hadn't expected how it would affect him. How Foggy's scent – sweeter now than before but still tantalizingly familiar – would sink beneath his skin and settle somewhere deep inside him.

Further, even, than it had been before and Matt had been helpless against the satisfaction he'd felt at having Foggy in his space – his territory. He could protect Foggy there, look after him, and if anyone tried to take him away, Matt would show them exactly how stupid an idea that was because Foggy was his to defend.

That's what best friends did, wasn't it? Defend each other? Protect each other?

So Matt had.

Had aired out the apartment and changed the sheets. Had stocked up on all of Foggy's favorite food and drinks. Had patrolled Hell's Kitchen with a hungry aggressive determination because he knew at some point he'd have to skip going out and just wait for Foggy to get through the worst of it.

But – he just – he'd been trying to do the right thing. He _had_ been doing the right thing. It was his imagination that wasn't cooperating because somewhere along the way – somewhere between listening to Foggy whimper and whine in Matt's bedroom – _his_ _bed_ – and pressing himself against the locked door – he'd lost himself to it all.

Lost himself to the sounds and scents of his best friend working his way through a heat that was powerful enough that Matt could taste it on his tongue. Could parse out the sweat on Foggy's skin, the slick running beautifully down his thighs, and the pre-come drooling down onto his sheets. God – _God_ \- Matt had tried his best.

Mouth open and nostrils flaring, he'd kept himself under steel control, trying not to notice the ache inside his pants or the taste of Foggy's slick upon his tongue, but he'd cracked eventually. Because Foggy had said – had whimpered muffled and yearning – something that sounded so much like Matt's name that he'd all but snarled, heart thundering wildly in his chest when he realized he was standing in front of his locked bedroom door and he didn't even remember moving.

Hands shaking and lips thinning, Matt had pressed his forehead against the cool surface of his bedroom door and slowly pulled his cock out. It was hard and aching, the start of his knot already forming at its base, and Matt had squeezed it, both hands forming a rough tunnel for him to thrust through unevenly. Palms and fingers pushing, he'd listened to Foggy through the door, scented him through the walls, and allowed himself to imagine for one single moment that he was fucking himself – knotting himself – into Foggy.

God forgive him but he'd swelled, knot growing against his fingers as he'd tried to pretend that his pre-come slicked hands were something more than they were. That the tight resistance he was feeling against his knot was not simply his fingers tightening but rather his Omega's – _his_ Omega's – body greedily making him work for it. Foggy _would_ make him work for it too, no matter how deep into his heat he was, and Matt would give him everything he wanted or needed.

It hadn't taken long for Matt to be pushed over the edge, the sound of Foggy's keening cries echoing through his mind as he'd choked out a hoarse whisper of Foggy's name and tried his best to push hard against the channel his hands made, the base of his cock swelling as it tried to knot his fingers. It didn't work, of course. Wouldn't work; Matt's own hands would never be able to properly simulate the tight heat he knew he'd feel inside his Omega.

Panting and groaning, Matt had come harder than he ever had before, knot and cock throbbing. It had been – it was – Matt hadn't understood before. Hadn't realized.

He wanted Foggy. He wanted his best friend. He wanted the Omega that had trusted him to keep him safe while he was at his most vulnerable and Matt had just…

He'd crossed a line – he knew he had – and guilt pulled at him like a physical weight because Foggy deserved better than Matt being a voyeuristic pervert and jerking off to him while he was suffering his way through his heat. And, the worst part was – the absolute worst – was that Matt knew he would do it again. Would do it repeatedly, for as long as Foggy was locked away during his heat and filling his apartment with the heady smell of his own need and probably even beyond that too.

God – no, _Foggy_ – forgive him but he also knew – _knew_ , with a kind of visceral clarity that was usually reserved for when he was keeping the city safe – that one day his control would break and he'd be lost and Foggy would pay the price for it.


End file.
